When he heard the man Smith stir, then saw him rise from his cot, Severn put his hand on the sword by his cot. What was the man doing sneaking about at night? When Smith went to Zared Severn almost drew a knife on him, but he hesitated and watched as Smith pulled Zared into his arms.
At first Severn gaped in astonishment. How had he heard Zared's weeping? No one except Severn knew how she cried in her sleep. None of her other brothers had ever been aware of Zared's tears, yet that man had heard.
Severn relaxed against the cot as he watched the two shadowy figures. Liana, he thought. His sister-in-law knew more than he had given her credit for. She had chosen Smith, perhaps knowing he was the right man for Zared.
Severn watched Smith hold his sister, and he remembered all too well those years when Zared's mother had cried. His brothers had hated hearing the woman's loud unhappiness, and in their way they had tried to comfort her. For a year or so they had allowed her to cry and had not complained, but in the second year of her marriage to their father they had told her to cease. Their words seemed to make her cry more.
It was Severn who had made an effort to stop the woman's tears. He was already a big, sturdy boy often years, and his own mother was long dead, but his stepmother's tears awakened a need within him. At night he would creep down the stairs and go to her room and climb in bed with her. Her own child, Zared, the only daughter born to his father, had been taken from her at birth. She used to cling to Severn, hold him so tightly he thought she might break a rib or two. But in the end she did not hurt him; in fact, he found he slept better on those nights when he slept near her.
He had been very afraid of what his older brothers and father would say when they found out that he had gone to comfort a crying woman, but his stepmother had never told anyone, and during the day, on the rare occasions when he saw her, she made no reference to the fact that sometimes he came to her.
Yet sometimes he'd find a piece of fruit in his room, or perhaps a sweet beside his bed. And in 1434, when he was so ill, she had sat up day and night nursing him, feeding him mugs of hot broth and spoonfuls of vile-tasting herbs. He hadn't fully recovered his strength when she went off with his father and his oldest brother William to Bevan Castle.
The Howards had laid siege to Bevan Castle, and she had starved to death there. His stepmother, his father, and William all dead at the hand of the Howards.
Afterward Severn and his remaining four brothers had decided to raise Zared as a boy to protect her from the Howards. Perhaps it was the memory of that poor, crying woman starving to death that had influenced them. They could not bear to think of their failure to protect one weak female. Perhaps Zared's pretty face with its long lashes, her bright hair, her smiling ways, reminded them too much of their failure.
There were times when Severn knew they were working Zared too hard, but a year after Zared's mother was starved by the Howards Rogan's first wife was taken prisoner. Severn shut his eyes in memory, for the fight to get her back had killed both Basil and James.
When there were only three brothers left Rowland, then the eldest, had doubled his vigilance against the Howards, and the brothers' training had also doubled. Rowland intensified his watch over Zared, forcing her to train as hard as her brothers. If he saw even a hint of softness in her, he stamped on it.
When Rowland was killed by Howard's men four years before, both Rogan and Severn had been devastated. Rowland had been their guiding light, the foundation of what was left of their family.
It was after Rowland's death that Zared began crying, just as her mother had done. The first time Severn had heard it he'd thought it was the ghost who haunted Moray Castle, but on the second night he got up to see who it was. Zared, half asleep, half awake, lay in her bed on a wet pillow. She was thirteen years old, but she felt frail to him when he pulled her into his arms. She had begged him not to tell about her crying, and he'd sworn he would not.
After that she didn't cry aloud, but sometimes he went to her and saw that she cried while she was sleeping. At first he thought her tears were from grief—she had seen many deaths in her short life— but he came to realize there was more than grief. He suspected that Zared didn't know why she cried, but he guessed that she was lonely, as deeply lonely as a person can be.
Severn had once mentioned to Rogan that he thought perhaps it would be all right to allow Zared to show that she was female. But while Rogan pondered the idea Oliver Howard had kidnapped Rogan's wife Liana, and the Peregrine vigilance had been renewed.
For Zared's own safety she had to remain in disguise.
Looking at Smith holding Zared, Severn smiled. To him, Zared was so obviously female that he could never believe that others believed her to be male. He and Rogan always teased her because she got angry like a wet cat, all claws and hisses. Yet the men who worked for them never seemed to question who the young lad was. As far as he knew, no one had ever guessed that Zared was a girl. Even Liana, his smart sister-in-law, had had to be told.
Until Smith. The man said he had known from the beginning that Zared was female, and Severn believed him. He knew Liana would not tell anyone outside of her ladies. She knew too well the danger the Howards posed to Zared's safety. Yet the man had known.
Severn watched Smith put Zared back in the bed and then go to his own cot. If Zared were to marry and go away with her husband, she would be out of the Peregrine-Howard war. She could live elsewhere in peace and contentment. She could wear pretty gowns and let her hair grow down her back as it had when she was a child. Severn thought he'd like to see his sister as a sister, with a fat baby on her hip and a smile on her lips. It would be pleasant to see her doing something other than beating boys at sword practice.
He smiled again. It looked as though Liana had chosen well.
Tearle awoke early, but not as early as the Peregrines. They were already out of the tent, and he could hear low voices outside and the splash of water. The sound of water reminded him of Zared washing Colbrand the evening before. Already, before he was even fully awake, he could feel his anger rising. He pulled on his stockings and started to pull his linen shirt on over his head, but he paused. Perhaps it might do Zared some good to see another man besides Colbrand.
He went outside the tent, bare from the waist up, yawning and stretching. Severn was sitting on a low stool just outside the tent, also bare from the waist up and Zared was washing his back.
"Good morn," Severn said to Tearle, and he smiled at him.
Tearle didn't look at Zared but instead smiled at her brother. "You are ready to fight this day?"
"I fear I have not brought enough lances to cover all that I will break this day," Severn said, boasting.
Zared poured cold water from a basin over Severn to rinse the soap away as he ran a rough and not-too-clean cloth over his body.
"Have a seat, Smith," Severn said as he stood and motioned to the stool. "My squire will wash you."
"I will not!" Zared said, but then she looked at her brother, saw the way his eyes narrowed.
I should have stayed at home, Zared thought once again as the Howard enemy sat on the stool before her. She soaped her hands and ran them over his back. She was cursing him to herself, cursing all men everywhere, since it was her brother who had made her do the disagreeable task, when he spoke.
"It is like bathing Colbrand?" Tearle said softly over his shoulder. "I hear that you washed him also."
"I washed him, but I enjoyed that," she said under her breath.
"And you do not enjoy touching me?"
"How could I? You are my enemy."
"But first I am a man."
"If man you can be called. A weak-limbed, puny thing like you."
"Puny? I?"
Zared hated when he taunted her, but then she hated everything about him. He was a weak-limbed… She looked down at the body under her hands. There was nothing small or weak about the muscles that moved under his skin. He wasn't quite as large as Colbrand… or maybe he was. Maybe he was even more
muscular.
She straightened and moved away from him. Perhaps he had the look of a man, but she knew he was but a soft, weak, spineless demi-man. All his muscle was fat. He was—
"Do you waste my time dawdling?" Severn snapped at her. "Have you no armor to clean? No horse to see to? Do you sharpen only the swords of my enemy?"
Zared threw cold water over Tearle, threw a dirty drying cloth in his general direction, and began to run to get ready. She was not going to be accused of being a laggard.
Within an hour she had Severn dressed in his armor and mounted on his war-horse, ready to go. All morning he was to face competitors at the lists.
A low wall of wooden planks had been built before the stands, and the jousters were to run at each other, wooden lances tucked under their right arms, and try to break the lances against each other. Points were awarded to each man according to where he struck his opponent's body (no hitting below the waist), the number of lances broken, the number of courses each man ran, and the number of times a man was struck, whether the lance broke or not.
Severn, riding toward his first opponent, had to move aside to miss being struck at the same time that he broke his lance giving a clear, solid hit to the other man's body. If at all possible, it was best to maneuver so that your opponent's lance struck your saddle or your horse, for demerits were given then.
A cheer went up at the first loud thwack of lance hitting steel. Severn rode to the far end, and Zared was waiting with a fresh lance as Severn rode again.
Severn rode again and again and again, knocking men from their horses and breaking several lances against his opponents' armor.
"He is good," Tearle said to Zared. "The people like him."
"Yes," she said, her voice full of pride. "They care not that he wears no plume on his helmet, and they do not remember the procession. He is heroic now."
Tearle had to agree with her as, with each pass Severn made, the cheers of the crowd grew louder. Only Colbrand received as much attention.
"Who will you want to win when your brother fights Colbrand?" Tearle asked.
"My brother, of course," she said, but only after a moment's pause. She looked away.
There were other jousters besides Severn, and between turns he would stand by Zared, downing huge mugs full of beer, while he watched the other men, trying to ascertain their weak and strong points.
"He will not win the Lady Anne," said a spiteful voice in Zared's ear.
She turned to see Colbrand's squire, Jamie, sweaty, just as she was, from running to fetch lances and help his master.
"My brother may not want the woman," Zared said haughtily, too well remembering Lady Anne's words about Severn.
"Ha!" Jamie said. "The lady's father approves of my master. He does not care for the filth of a Peregrine."
Zared's anger that had built up over the last days came to the surface. Severn's sword lay propped against a nearby post, and she grabbed it, going after the boy as though she meant to kill him.
Tearle caught her about the waist and lifted her off the ground. "Release it," he said.
"I have had enough of his taunts and mean to silence him," she yelled.
Tearle's big arm squeezed her waist until she could no longer breathe. With his other arm he took the sword from her. He dropped her so that she barely caught herself before falling. "Go back to your master," Tearle growled at Jamie, and the boy scurried away.
Tearle turned to Zared. "Do you always greet anger with a weapon? Do you not know how to think?"
"As well as you do," she snapped. "That child—"
"Is just that," Tearle interrupted, then he sighed. "I should be grateful you did not agree with him and hope for Colbrand to win."
"Over my brother? Colbrand will no doubt beat the other men, but he will not beat a Peregrine."
Tearle was glad Zared was not ready to betray her brother for the stupid Colbrand. He didn't say more as he turned back to the field.
At noon the jousting was halted, and all the participants were to leave the grounds to go into dinner. Zared knew it would be another long meal serving her brother. "You are ready?" she asked Severn.
He looked down at her, then at Smith behind her, and he remembered the way the man had held her in the night. Severn wondered if Zared remembered what had happened. He ruffled his sister's hair, knocking her cap askew. "Go you with Smith and see what the merchants have to sell," he said.
"Leave? But who will serve you? Who will—"
"I will not starve. Now go before I change my mind."
Zared didn't waste a moment in making up her mind. She turned and was off the tournament grounds almost before Severn had finished his sentence. She almost ran into a man who had two dead pigs slung across his back.
Tearle's hand clamped on her shoulder.
"Leave me," she snapped at him. "I do not need a keeper."
"Will you enjoy this visit among the people as much as yesterday? You left early to go and sit alone in the woods."
"I wanted to do that," she said, her chin stuck out. "I was tired of the crowds, and… and…"
"Mmmm," he said, obviously not believing her. It didn't take a great deal of work on his part to figure out why she cried at night. Were he made to dress as a woman he would do more than weep.
"If you will allow me, I will accompany you."
Zared didn't want to agree to go with him, but she, too, remembered the night before, when she'd felt so alone. Perhaps a Howard was better than nothing— not a great deal better, but better than being alone. "All right," she said. "You may come with me."
"You are very kind to me, Lady Zared," he said softly.
"Lady" Zared, she thought, and she rather liked the sound of the words.
She hated to admit it—oh, very much hated to admit it—but she enjoyed the Howard man's company. He led her through the tents of vendors set up near the tourney grounds and showed her everything. At a booth selling religious objects she stared in awe at bloodstained splinters from Christ's cross. The Howard man showed her that some of the blood wasn't even dry yet, and he pointed to a wooden tent post that was suspiciously missing some large splinters.
He took her to a goldsmith's booth, and when Zared would have stood to one side to look at the beautiful objects the Howard man bade the goldsmith show them all his wares. At a cloth merchant's booth he had the man pull down all the luscious fabrics so that Zared could see and feel them. At another booth he showed her children's toys, bidding the merchant to demonstrate each one.
The few hours they had before the tournament began again went by much too quickly, and Zared was reluctant to return.
"A woman at heart," Tearle said, laughing. "How have you resisted purchasing? If nothing for yourself, then a gift perhaps for your lovely sister-in-law."
"The Howards stole our fortune," she said, hating being reminded of her poverty.
Tearle's handsome face lost its smile. He had only meant to tease her, not to remind her of her family's poverty. "Here," he said. "See what this man sells."
Zared lost her anger when she looked at the man with the big tray suspended from around his neck. On the tray were beautiful embroidered gloves. They were of white or tan leather, or of colored silk, and the embroidery was so bright it flashed in the sunlight.
"You may touch them," Tearle said, smiling. "Smell them."
"Smell?" she asked, and she picked up one soft, beautiful pair. The gloves smelled of roses. She turned to him, delight on her face. "How?" she whispered. In her experience leather smelled of horses and men's sweat.
"Before the gloves are cut the leather is buried for months in flower petals. Do you have jasmine?" he asked the vendor.
The man, watching the strange pair, dug through the pile and took out a pair of yellow leather gloves heavily embroidered with gold thread. For all the world, he thought, these people talked as a man and his lady, but what the vendor saw was a big, handsome, obviously aristocratic lord and a pretty red-haired boy who had a s
mudge of dirt on his cheek.
"Choose the one you want and one for Lady Liana. Or perhaps a pair for each of her ladies."
"Liana would love these," Zared said, looking at the colors, feeling the softness of them. She put the gloves down and stepped back.
"Choose," Tearle urged her.
She glared at him. She didn't want to admit before the vendor that she had no money and couldn't afford something as frivolous as one pair of gloves, much less several pairs as gifts.
Tearle understood her thinking. "I mean to purchase all that you want."
Her fists clenched; her back teeth locked together. She was so angry she couldn't speak but turned on her heel and stalked away.
Tearle grimaced. He was beginning to understand the Peregrine pride. He lifted his tunic edge, felt for the drawstring bag hanging from his waist, and pulled out a gold coin. He flipped it to the gaping vendor, then took the gloves—all of them—shoved them down the front of his tunic, and went after Zared.
She was walking so stiff-legged that it was easy to catch her. He didn't try to reason with her but grabbed her arm and pulled her into a narrow place between a thatch-roofed hut and a stone wall. He blocked the exit with his big body.
Zared glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Peregrines do not take charity from a Howard. We do not take charity from anyone. Even though our lands were stolen we—"
She broke off because he kissed her. He didn't pull her into his arms but just leaned forward, head turned, and kissed her firmly. When he stood upright Zared could only look at him, blinking. It was a moment before she could recover the use of her senses. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stared at him.
"It is good to see you have no words," he said.
"I have words for you," she answered, and tried to push past him to get out of the confined area. "Let me pass."
"Not until you listen to me."
"I will hear nothing you say."
"Then I shall kiss you again."
Zared stopped and looked at him. His kiss had not been unpleasant. In fact, it had made her feel a little warm. "I will listen if it puts an end to such degradation."